


Stow Your Love with Me, My Body Needs Your Body Heat

by oneforyourfire



Series: Oneforyourfire's Valentine's Day Fics [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 06:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: And some people, you're only meant to love, only meant to keep for a while, but others, they last longer, fit right, fit forever. And haunt and haunt and haunt.





	Stow Your Love with Me, My Body Needs Your Body Heat

Yifan tugs Tao into his apartment, crowds him against the entryway. And Tao, he doesn't ask what they're doing, why they're here, whether it's a mistake, if they should talk first. 

Hadn’t asked at the venue. At the afterparty. In Yifan’s car. In the elevator up to his high-rise. Not even now with Yifan’s thigh pinning him to the red accent wall, with Yifan’s fingers trembling around his jawline. 

He knows already—what they're doing, why they're here, that it _is_ a mistake. But the very best kind, so they shouldn't talk. Shouldn't stop. _Can’t_ , fuck, please. 

It’s a new year. But these are old wounds, old habits, old haunts. Old mistakes. 

And they haven't needed words in the past 4 years. Would probably only use them to tear at each other, break each other open and bleeding.

“Tao,” he says anyway. “Taozi.”

Tao's eyes twinkle up at him as he nuzzles into Yifan’s trembling palm and he's tilting his hips up to rock against Yifan, deliberate and insistent, and he's parting his lips around the softest, sweetest sigh. 

And some people, you're only meant to love, only meant to keep for a while, but others, they last longer, fit right, fit forever. And haunt and haunt and haunt. 

And it was stupid to think that Tao wouldn't be the latter, that they wouldn’t find themselves in each other’s orbits again. Stupid to think he wasn’t helpless to the heavy, heady, heady pull of Tao's gravity again. Captive and helpless again. 

And they both know why they're here.

There’s painful, awful, powerful clarity in Tao’s dark, dark eyes as he lolls his head back, rocks his hips up again even more deliberate, even more insistent, once, twice, damning, drugging, fluid. The friction makes Yifan’s knees weak. Has his trembles coming harder, harder, more devastating. 

“ _Gege_ ,” Tao responds. 

His face is award show pretty, but after party smeared. Glitter bleeding into his brow bone, black past his waterline, nude pink stained around the pucker of his mouth. Ruined already. And Yifan staggers forward, crowds him further against the wall to kiss him, deep and dirty and desperate from the very start, wanting to ruin him more and ruin him his. 

Tao’s arms wind around his waist, force him even closer, and Yifan’s heart lurches, aches, aches, aches.

It’s been years, been so painfully long, but he tastes the same, moans the same, writhes and shivers in his arms just exactly the same. 

Old wounds. Old habits. Old haunts. Old mistakes. The sting of icy hot on his skin, the taste chumchurum soju on his tongue, the rasp of rough, reverent Mandarin slurred into his throat. And the need and the need and the need—even then. 

Dizzy with pain-laced memories, with breathtaking _need_ , Yifan bumbles over the anchor of his waist, cradles Tao’s jaw as he kisses him deeper, dirtier, more damningly desperate. Wants him. Wants him. Wants him. 

“Come on, gege,” he murmurs against his parted lips. “Come on. _Touch me_.”

But he’s tugs him into another kiss. Toothy and hot and sloppy and devastating and burning, burning. Yifan is burning. 

 

Tao’s skin it's familiar. It's forbidden. It's all he wants. Yifan stumbles over leather and denim and cotton, feels the heat of his soft, perfect golden skin as he skims over the tremble of his chest, the quiver of his belly, the solid, sleek definition of his waist. Pauses before teasing over the ridge of his cock. The heat of is hefty, heady, aching, achingy, achingly familiar even through the layers of clothing, and Yifan drags the heel of his palm, watches the way his jaw fall slack, the way his eyelashes flutter, the way the tension bleeds into his limbs as he locks, rocks, arches. Tao’s mascara-heavy eyelashes kiss against his throat as he pants in encouragement. Willing. Wanton. Wrecked. 

Yifan nuzzles into his chest, mouthing mindlessly along the collar of his shirt as he grinds the heel of his palm, nearly, nearly cruel. 

“Touch me,” Tao repeats. “Touch me. Touch me.” 

And they’re stumbling, staggering the forty paces to Yifan's bed. 

Tao collapses back against the Egyptian sheets like he _belongs_ there, tugging Yifan forward into the warm, shuddery cradle of his body like Yifan belongs there, too. Holds him like they belong together. And Yifan shivers violently. 

Their next kiss is frantic as Yifan moans and pleads with his lips, teeth, tongue as he tears at all the offensive leather and denim and cotton and silk between them. 

Baring him completely, baring his him, drunk on all the long, lean, lithe beautiful lines of him, Yifan swallows past the twist of ugly, sharp, sharp possessiveness, the needling need to mark and claim and have and keep and ruin and break and break and break. He falls forward to bite down on the juncture of his throat, and Tao lurches into the touch, lips wobbling around a moan, fingers kneading into his shoulders, thighs winding around Yifan's clothed sides.

Yifan bites again—harder, wetter, longer—groans as Tao’s fingers shift to his hair, threading, tugging. 

Tao’s lips skim his cheekbone, his earlobe, slide down Yifan’s jaw, his throat. "Gege," he murmurs, low, low, lazy, rough. "Touch me. _Touch me_."

Quaking through another potent flare of possessive arousal, Yifan strokes over his belly, curls around the flared tip of his erection, watches Tao moan. And fuck, he's so thick and heavy and hot, familiar and forbidden still, pulsing with Tao's every shuddery breath. Yifan strokes once—featherlight, barely, barely touching—then harder, tighter. 

Tao’s entire body surges beneath him, twisting towards the fleeting pressure, spine arching in the most elegant, decadent ruin—already, already, already. Dark and desperate and damning, his liquid eyes blink up at him, and Yifan can’t—

He kisses down his chest, stumbling over the soft skin, fine hair, tasting the reckless race of his pulse. 

"Touch me” Tao repeats, fingernails skittering along his scalp, forcing him harder. “Make me—want to be good.”

Tao’s always been good, always been the best, and Yifan, he’s not even sure if—

“Fanfan gege,” he breathes into his temple. “Let me be good,” he repeats. 

And Yifan is shivering again. Violent again. Quelling it, quelling it. 

“Watch me." 

Yifan slides down, kissing along the sharp jut of his hipbones, the quivering column of his thighs, nuzzling lazily into the crisp hair at the base of his cock. His fingers tremble as they close around Tao’s thigh, lift it over his shoulder, and Tao, Tao trembles, too, as he pushes into the touch. Arches. Writhes. Sinful and sinuous.

“Watch me,” he repeats, kissing, kissing, coaxing. 

Tao blinks at him past the heaving expanse of his flushed chest, parted lips wobbling around a shudder of a moan, twisted up for him pretty and pliant and perfect—already, already, already. And greedy, greedy, Yifan kisses higher, wetter just to watch him tremble, gasp&nmdashand again and again and again.

And _fuck_ , he’s missed this. Missed him. Missed _them_. And it aches even when he has it.

Suckling sloppily along his cock, Yifan gropes one-armed for the lube in his nightstand. And he’s missed that even more. The way Tao’s skin flutters, dances around his fingertip, opens slow, slow, beautiful, then clenches tight. And Yifan moans into his hiphone, kisses, nuzzles, bites as he curls, searching, longing, longing, longing. 

Older memories, haunts, habits, wounds. Callused fingers in his hair, practice room sweat kissing against his nose, his tongue, Tao's voice haggard, demanding, demanding—harder gege, harder, harder, break me. 

And his body shudders helplessly through the recollection as he eases a second, teases a third. 

His body is so hot and wet and tight and responsive and beautiful. And against his belly, his cock jerks, and that’s beautiful, too. Heartbreaking so and hot and heady. 

And it’s breathtaking, overwhelming, _terrifying_ sometimes, taking someone that wants so much, so open, so desperate, so beautiful. An elegant, untouchable, impossible kind of beauty. Strung out and flushed and quivering and lush-lashed and plush-lipped, and stained pink with arousal.

Tao is prettiest. The most beautiful thing that Yifan has ever had, will ever have. Tao, he makes you feel almost unworthy even as he begs for it, begs for you by name. Fanfan gege, please, please, please, give me. Please, want to—tell me, please—

“How many?”

“Three.” 

And he’s twisting and teasing and tapping and he’s fucking and he’s fucking and he’s fucking, pointed, precise. Until Tao is sobbing, scrambling, quivering, pleading, until, until, until he’s nearly—

He feels the pulse of it through his own body, thrums with arousal, and there’s elegance even in this, the way his thighs quake, knees knock together, head tosses back. The way tears glitter on his heavy, dark, dark, eyelashes. 

“Another,” he coaxes into his thigh, and Tao sobs around an affirmative, voice cracking so pretty, so painful around a breathy _gege_. 

It's silent but violent, the way he thrashes, the way he falls back into the mattress, clambering, clamoring still for him. 

Tao, he isn’t someone you quit. He grinds into your bones. He crawls into your veins. Steals the air from your lungs. Claims. Ruins. Burns. Burns. Burns. 

And Yifan fucks him past the terrifying realization. Towards another trembling, breathless almost. 

"Come on, Taozi, give me more. Give me one more." 

He lurches now, scrambling for his hand, squeezing bruising tight as he swivels, trembles tighter, tighter, tighter

Yifan scrapes his teeth against Tao's thigh, tastes the perfect tremors with his mouth, moaning into his skin. And Tao writhes, weakly, begs for it again, through a ruined rasp of a sob. Harder. Mark me up. Let me remember. A bruise. A wound. A mistake. A mistake. A mistake.

Tao sobs, thrashes, throat heaving when Yifan complies. And again. And again. And again. reducing him to this, having him his if only like this. So close. So close. So close, he’s nearly sobbing. 

Yifan, he's never been this turned on, never been this hard, never ever ever wanted something as much as he wants Tao. Never needed something as much either. Never never never—

He falls back, falls away, scrapes at Tao's hips with his messy, lube-slick fingers, and Tao wails. His cock jerks. His belly quakes. Thighs, too. 

Quivering through it, Tao bites his lip hard, red and bruised, and Yifan is fucking forward again, fucking down against the pristine hotel sheets, rapt, rapt, helpless as he watches Tao shake and sob for more, more, more, please, please. 

Yifan fucks his way inside again, twists his fingers, teases, prods, pounds, pounds, pounds, intent on fucking more pretty, broken sounds from his body, intent on tearing him into smaller, smaller, smaller pieces. Just like this. With just his fingers. Just like this all for him. 

Tao’s body pulls taut, eyes clench shut, jaw falls slack around the most ruined, most broken, most helpless whimper. And he's shaking apart again—just for him.

"Come please. Taozi, please. For me. For gege." 

And he's twisting and he's crooking and he's dragging and he's coaxing and he's coaxing and he's coaxing. 

"Gege. Gege. _Gege_."

And oh, it’s utterly explosive the way he comes and comes and comes, beautiful, too the way his muscles ripple then lock as he paints his chest white and moans and moans and moans. 

Yifan, hard, hard, hard, so hard it hurts, watches him unravel with trembling, breathless, helpless, rapt captivation. 

Tao drags him down, and Yifan staggers, lurches, moans weakly as his cock catches against Tao’s thigh. The pressure is dragging, heavy— enough to have sharp, sharp shards of pleasure tearing through his quaking, overheated body. Just just— _right_.

And Yifan feels bruised and broken from wanting, from needing—back. 

Tao’s hands are insistent when they drag him down again. Then once more. Words insistent, too, low and rough and demanding. Give it to me, gege. Come for me, gege. Fanfan gege, come on. Come on. Need it. Please. On me. On me. On me. 

He paws at his own zipper. His own briefs. Grinds down still on the solidity of his skin, seeks out still the wanton warmth of Tao's body. 

Tao forces him down even harder, even faster. And Yifan can't breathe past the sharp, sharp rush of pleasure, can't think past the reckless roar of blood in his ears and the need and the need and the need. 

“Gege, please,” he coaxes, urges, demands, pleads, pants, pants, pants. “Give it to me please.” 

Yifan’s arms shake, and he can't ever, ever, ever deny him. Can't can't can't—Taozi, Taozi, Taozi.

He quivers, pants, collapses with it, rutting inelegantly against Tao's spent body as it reaches a fever pitch beneath his skin, tremors and heat and pleasure and ruin and need and need and need. Sticky and ruined and helpless and drugged, he quakes and quakes and quakes. 

Tao cradles him closer, cradles him through every crashing, shattering, damning wave of it. Then kisses him through the comedown, and it's off-center, soft, weak, fond, fond, fond, devastating. 

And Yifan’s hand bumble to curl around the nape of his neck, thumb molding helplessly . The pain it echoes still, a haunting pang through his weary bones. And he’s coaxing him closer, closer, closer, needing him so much closer, melting when Tao moans for him, soft, fond, fond, fond. Familiar. Forbidden. Devastating.

They shuffle, twine, twist. And Tao's hair fans so pretty against Yifan's pillowcase, golden skin melts so pretty against his sheet. And Yifan thinks about Tao’s scent and how it stains into his pillowcase, bleeds across his skin, thinks about it winding tight and jealous and possessive and drugging and destructive and perfect around his throat. Knows he’s caught again. Helpless and captive again. And Yifan laces their fingers tight, tight, tight, aching.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, all
> 
> feel free to rt [this](https://twitter.com/oneforyourfire/status/1094369988738048000) if you wanna spread the word


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